The Rise of a Champion
by Natmonkey
Summary: Gather round, mates! Mike Hawke, the one and only Champion of Kirkwall, is about to tell his tale. Don't listen to that Varric guy; he is way too fond of embellishment. What happened in those periods Bioware wouldn't let us play? What was going through Hawke's mind? I don't know either, but I'll make it up as I go along.
1. Introduction

_Hello and welcome to a brand new Natmonkey story of considerable length. I know it's madness, since I'm still busy writing AdF and other little things, but I have to do it. This my interpretation of Hawke's adventures. This one has more in common with his Hero relative than he could ever think. Like their taste in men. So consider yourself warned: male-on-male action right ahead._

* * *

**Introduction**

Mike Hawke here, with the best deal on the original tale of how I became the Champion of Kirkwall. I might even tell you what happened after that crazy shit with Meredith. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, you get the story straight from the horse's mouth. And no, I do not look like a horse. I am merely hung like one. Anyway, forget about the rumours, forget about the novels, forget about the pamphlets and don't, whatever you do, listen to those minstrels; you get the one and only true tale from the Champion himself. No bullshit about the size of my sister's tits, no nonsense about my brother cleaving ten darkspawn in two with a single blow. Don't think I don't know what Varric has been telling you people. So, how about it? All I need from you is to let me chew your ear off for a while. What do you say? No? Well, too bad, you're going to hear it anyway.

Where should I start? Though my family is originally from Kirkwall, I was born in Ferelden while my parents were on the run from Templars. Dad was an apostate, you see. I like to think that my magic is the best thing I got from him – apart from my good looks, of course – even though he and Bethany never seemed to think so. Speaking of magic, the Hero of Ferelden is my second cousin. What a coincidence, huh, the Champion and the Hero being from the same family and both mages to boot? All right, the last part makes sense since magic runs in the family, but still. I don't know what possessed her mother though. I mean, who in their right mind names their child Astoreth? Revka Amell, that's who. With a name that could be shortened to "Ass", one might end up as the butt of many a cheesy joke. Michael is a far superior name. Mike is even better – I don't care what Carver thinks. "Mike Hawke" does not sound like "my cock" at all.

You know, I don't really understand why having a mage child is such a big deal. We do all right, don't we? Apparently Astoreth's birth was the beginning of the end. For the prestige of the Amell family, that is. What a load of shit. Mother once told me that all of Revka's children were mages and sent to Circles all over Ferelden. There should be laws against such practices, damn it. Children shouldn't be ripped away from their families like that.

Where was I again? Oh right, father. He taught Bethany and me well, how to use our magic and how to conceal it. After having wandered through most of Ferelden, we finally settled down in Lothering. Lovely little village, that. Almost fatally boring, but safe. Nothing ever happened. Although one day – this was shortly before we fled – I was just sitting at the kitchen table with a book and this barely dressed tart of a woman bursts through our door and starts rummaging through the chests and drawers. The cheek of it! I was too shocked to say anything. She took a cheap set of bangles mother once bought off a travelling merchant and left. Never even said hello. I never…

That was the only noteworthy thing to ever happen in Lothering, really. We'd lived there for years, very close to the Chantry and its Templars and they never knew. It wasn't only that we hid our talents very well. I was deeply involved with a very prominent Templar, who somehow didn't feel the need to lop off my head with his overly large sword. Such hard work, too. If I think of the nights Bryant kept me awake… Heh. Not that I didn't enjoy it, mind you. He was always so sweet and gentle. Unless I begged him not to be. Oh, but I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear about this. What? Stop staring at me like that. Puppy eyes won't work with me, I'll have you know; I almost invented them. But I would be more than happy to tell you about-… My what, now? You perverts… Ha! I think we'll get along just fine.

Very well then. I prefer men to women, without a doubt. When exactly this realization hit me, I have no idea. Women are just so complicated, you know? No offense. I think you're lovely and beautiful, but I don't need all that drama. In any case, the long and short of it is that I was insanely attracted to Bryant. We met when we were still teenagers; at the time, there was no 'ser' attached to his name yet. He was just so… I'm not quite sure how to put it. Interesting doesn't seem adequate. His animated dark eyes, the dimples that appeared in his cheeks whenever he smiled, the uplifting sound of his laughter – these were only a few of the fine qualities that attracted my attention.

I'd sneak about the Chantry and watch the Templar recruits at their training. Well, not all of them; just Bryant, to be honest. He handled a blade with expert skill, though I must admit I mostly drifted off into daydreams every time I watched him. I'd imagine those strong hands all over me, his tongue in my mouth. Having him bend me over and pound me to within an inch of my life. Those daydreams had to become reality, even if it was the last thing I'd do. Now you see why I don't need any drama: I create enough all on my own. Still, I can be subtle when I need to be.

It took me a good year's time and all the subtlety I could muster to seduce the man. Sat next to him during mass in the Chantry without pouncing on him, greeted him with my nicest smile without making any suggestive comments, invited him into my room to show off my small collection of dragon figurines without having my way with him on the bed… See? I was modesty in the flesh! After all my friendly gestures, Bryant was the one to stutteringly confess that he'd fallen for me. I could just about do a victory dance right then. Of course I had the grace to blush and say it was all so sudden and I wasn't sure if blah, blah, blah… He left rather crestfallen, but later that night, we kissed for the first time.

Thinking about it still gives me goose bumps to this day. He'd snuck out of his dormitory when everybody else was asleep and pelted pebbles at my window until I let him in. "I need to know right now how you feel," he begged. "This waiting is killing me." Bryant was difficult to resist most of the time, but his obvious despair and desire made it impossible. All I could do was take his handsome face in my hands and kiss him. Sweet Maker. I'd kissed a few girls before realizing that wasn't for me; kissing him made that even more obvious.

He moaned softly at the touch of my lips, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. My heart almost pounded its way out of my chest. He soon allowed my tongue to slip into his mouth; I thought I was going to die. That's how good it was. All we did that night was slowly undress one another and climb into my bed in only our smallclothes. Nothing extremely sordid happened. Just lots of kissing and touching going on. We fell asleep hopelessly tangled together. Just before I nodded off, I realized that I was madly, deeply in love. That knowledge made my travels in the Fade all the sweeter.

I woke up alone the next morning; Bryant and all his clothes were gone. I'm glad he never got caught for messing around with me. We took things very slowly. We had the luxury of time, after all, and neither of us was very experienced in these matters. After a week or so of clandestine nightly meetings, I finally managed the nerve to slip my hand into his smalls as he lay against me in bed. Playing with your own bits is all well and good, but it's decidedly different if you've got somebody else's cock in your hand. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I watched his face while I stroked him up and down; didn't take him very long to start throbbing in my hand and cover it in warm cum. His expression was exquisite. Pure bliss, it was. Seeing it alone made me harder than a rock. I licked the fluid from my hand, enjoying the way he turned redder and redder at the sight. Sometimes he was so shy. I've always been a sucker for that. Then again, sometimes he wasn't very shy at all.

Like then. He pushed me onto my back, literally ripped off my smalls and grabbed my tool with both hands. There was this kind of fever in his eyes as he brought his lips closer and closer to me. It felt like an eternity before we finally connected. Feeling such warm softness against such a sensitive area for the first time, you understand, can be quite… A disaster. He'd barely touched me and there I went, blowing my load all over his face. Very embarrassing. Thankfully, my Templar didn't mind. He actually looked pretty damned sexy like that, cleaning his face and licking me off his fingers. I could get all poetic about how we kissed and his taste mingled with mine and how romantic that was and oh, swoon and stuff, but let's be honest: semen tastes bloody awful. Though having plenty of fruit in your diet might improve the flavour, it will still be bitter. I only liked it because it came out of him.

Over the course of the next months, we became quite the experts when it came to pleasuring each other. I think I loved that most of all, pleasuring him. Didn't really matter how, as long as he was happy. I adored resting between his legs and slowly sucking his cock, looking up at his face as I went. Beautiful sight. The sounds he made too. On occasion, just before finishing, he would get all feral. Growling and snarling, he'd grab me by the hair and thrust into my mouth until he spent himself down my throat. Ah… I could never get enough of that.

You'd think that as horny teenagers, we would be fucking each other in the ass in no time at all. Truth is, we were rather nervous about that. We were both big lads, even then. We spent a very long time carefully inserting well-oiled fingers and finding the right angles before moving on to really big things. I volunteered to take him first. Lying on my stomach, hips slightly raised on a pillow. No matter how careful he was, it's the worst pain I've ever felt. I've since been shot with arrows, I've been set on fire, I've been zapped with lightning, I've been cut, stabbed and beaten, I've had my face tattooed for the sake of coolness – all that was peanuts compared to having a big cock stretch out my arse. I'm pretty sure I cried. Bryant felt really guilty, but he couldn't help throbbing with the excitement.

When the pain finally subsided, however, I had the time of my life. With every thrust I felt something really deep inside, like a very sharp, almost painful stab of pleasure. Is that what women feel like? I tried asking Isabela, but she wanted something in return and tried to take off my pants. No, thank you. With all the action she sees, I'd rather not take any chances. But let's get back to the first time thing. Bryant had to pause a lot, because he was rather overexcited. Heh. How I wish I could have seen his face just then. It felt amazing. Even more so when my lover reached around my hip to stroke my cock. Cheesy as it may sound, we came together. Bit of a cause-and-effect thing. See, the more he jerked me off, the better it felt, the more I tightened my muscles, the more it stimulated him and so on. It could hardly have gone better.

After a cuddle and a few cups of water, it was my turn. My sweet Templar insisted he lie on his back, so we could look at each other. He was a keeper. If it hadn't been for that fucking Blight… Never mind. I too was as careful as I could possibly be, but it was obviously agony for him. Being a Templar, he had a higher tolerance for pain than I did – not even that helped much, though. I distracted him from the pain with kisses and gentle caresses, until he begged me to move. It was difficult not to pump him full of cum right away. The tightness, the hotness of him, the heightened sensitivity in the end of my cock… His moaning, his expressions… Andraste's _ass_, it was hot. And not only that. I noticed him looking at me in a way I'd never seen before, so naturally I asked him what was wrong.

For a while, he said nothing. Only smiled so lovingly, I just… I don't know. Then he said it, with his voice all choked and tears in his eyes: "I love you, Mickey." I got very emotional and pretty much burst into tears of joy, telling him that I loved him too. We'd been together for almost a year at that point and this was the first time either of us had said it. I had wanted to, of course, but I was too much of a chicken. After that, we must have told each other at least a thousand times. Bryant is the only one to ever call me Mickey, incidentally. Everyone else just says Mike or Michael. Whenever mother was angry at me for some reason or other, she would shriek out my full, unabridged name. Michael Aloysius Hawke. For fuck's sake, it's almost worse than Astoreth.

Sorry, I'm the worst storyteller ever, going off on tangents like this. Ahem. After that short burst of emotion, my urge to fill my lover with my seed had simmered down considerably. For what felt like hours – but probably wasn't – I made love to him. Long, slow thrusts. Deep kisses until we were both gasping for air. I made him come again and again, until he had nothing left to ejaculate. When I at long last felt the urge again, some kind of wild beast took over. I growled, I snarled, I dug my fingers into his hips so deep he had purple bruises for a week. But then he pulled me into his arms, kissing and caressing me, and all the aggression just flowed away. It was exhausting. We fell asleep hopelessly tangled together in a sticky, sweaty mess.

Even with the way Bryant and I cared for one another, it took me another three years before I finally worked up the courage to tell him that I was a mage. I didn't really want to tell him, but I figured he had a right to know. What with being the love of my life and all, you understand. Imagine my surprise then, when he says he would be a shit Templar if he couldn't tell at least that much. He was just waiting for me to tell him of my own accord. Took a weight of my shoulders, that did.

I guess Bryant had his own interpretation of the Chant and its precepts. Same-sex relationships are condemned with an almost fanatical fierceness, but at the same time love and compassion are preached. He loved me and showed me compassion, even though the Chantry would oblige him to put me, an apostate and an incorrigible pervert, to death. Instead, he made me feel like the luckiest, happiest man alive. When father died, he was there to comfort me. The protection of the innocent and the helpless was what drove him most. That was where his duty lay. His kind heart and compassion helped him rise in the ranks until he was at the head of the Templars in Lothering.

I begged him to flee with me, even though mother and the twins wouldn't have relished the idea. They knew of us and naturally disapproved; father, when he was still alive, thought our affair might come in handy sometime. They also knew that I would never be persuaded to break off our ties. I'm too much of a wayward little shit to listen to anybody else. Bryant wanted to stay in Lothering and help the many fugitives as best as he could. If he was to survive the Blight, he would come find me. He never did. I've never cared as deeply about anybody else again and probably never will. Maybe he still lives; even we didn't know at the time that we would be going to Kirkwall. Still, I can't keep fooling myself.

So, is your sordid curiosity satisfied now? Don't worry: it doesn't end here. I could ramble on and on for hours, but then we wouldn't really get anywhere. I need to focus, so please, don't interrupt me. Let's have ourselves a proper story, shall we?


	2. A Warm Welcome to Kirkwall

**A Warm Welcome to Kirkwall**

As I am sure you know pretty much all there is to know about our flight from Lothering, I will only briefly touch on the subject. What used to be beautifully verdant was reduced to barren, black wasteland, filled with darkspawn. They were everywhere. Bethany and I had up until then never had to use our magic that extensively, or that openly. Thankfully there were no Templars around to see us. At least not until we came across Aveline Vallen and her very own Templar husband Wesley, saving them from an overenthusiastic band of those blighted bastards. After this, the Templar and I exchanged a few friendly comments about possible consequences of Bethany and me being apostates, but then he grew a brain and realized we were all in the same leaky, darkspawn-rot covered boat. If anything, the Blight brought us all closer together. Isn't it wonderful?

Everything went fairly peachy, until the ogre. Poor Bethany; she never stood a chance. Why she didn't just run away I will never know. Carver and I yelled at her to bolt, but to no avail. Bravely but foolishly, the girl tried to protect our mother by setting the beast on fire. It wasn't flammable; another lesson learned. It grabbed her – the creature was so large, its hand fit easily around her waist – picked her up and then bashed her head into the ground. Repeatedly. I'm glad she didn't get much of a chance to suffer. But her killer did.

Long, gruelling battle short, the ogre fell to the ground reduced to a bleeding, half-frozen lump of flesh. Carver and Aveline were heavily fatigued and covered in blood; I was fresh out of mana. When this particular battle was over, mother blamed me for Bethany's death. Me. Why didn't _I_ stop her? I wasn't the one standing right next to her, mother, _you_ were. I have never forgiven her for this, nor will I ever. Not that she ever knew that. Too busy going on about her darling little girl. Would she have grieved like that too if it had been Carver, or me? I rather doubt it.

Now, I'm sure you've heard the bit about the dragon and dismissed it as fanciful nonsense. It's not. Darkspawn were pouring in from all around us, but suddenly this massive dragon swooped in and reduced them to crisps with fiery breath. Even more unbelievable: the dragon turned into an older woman with the killer body of a hot young thing. I know I said I'm not too much into women, but she was something else. The eyes, the outfit, the voice. Woof. She claimed to be none other than Flemeth, the legendary Witch of the Wilds, and that she could get us safely to Gwaren, where we might board a ship to Kirkwall. All we had to do in return was deliver some necklace. A snip, right? Later, much later, I was proven wrong.

In the meantime, it turned out that Wesley had been tainted by the darkspawn. Poor bastard. I don't think we would have become best friends forever, but he didn't deserve this. His skin was paler than death, veins turning black. Obviously in a great deal of pain. There was no way to save him, so Aveline put him out of his misery with his own dagger. I felt so bad for her. At the same time I admired and still admire her – her strength, her determination, her loyalty. She is possibly the most awesome chick I know (but don't tell her I said that).

Flemeth was as good as her word. Have you ever ridden a dragon? It's awesome. Scary at first, with the wind whistling in your ears and tugging at you, but once you get used to it, there is nothing quite like it. The sense of freedom it gives you… No words could ever describe it. You know, I saw birds giving us funny looks while we were up there. It's true, I swear. The others may not have noticed it, but I certainly did.

Ha! I got you, didn't I? We never rode a dragon. If only. I begged Flemeth to fly us to Gwaren, but she only laughed me off. Such a feat of transformation must take a lot of power. She didn't want to teach me that trick either. Instead, she simply guided us through the Korcari Wilds. The trip took many days and I have never felt that damp in my life. Stupid swamplands. Whenever we turned in for the night, Flemeth watched over us. It's like the woman didn't need sleep. Or sustenance, for that matter. The witch caught us several rabbits and found us many edible plants daily to fill our bellies, even water that wasn't rank, but she never took any for herself. Whether she is who she says or not, she remains a mystery. Still, she helped. We never encountered any darkspawn, though their numbers were supposedly at their thickest there. Perhaps she used some kind of mysterious magic to keep them away, I don't know. Whatever it was, it worked.

The boat ride to Kirkwall was seventeen kinds of terrible. I had no idea I suffer from motion sickness like this. Carver laughed at me when I threw up on my boots. Then I threw up on his boots and suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. That was one of the rare moments in which he showed any mirth or sense of humour. He is my little brother and I love him and everything – even if the feeling isn't quite mutual – but he has to be the single biggest downer of a person I've ever met. And I've met my share of persons. Somehow he doesn't see his own worth, how great a man he is. As soon as talk of a possible Blight came up, Carver enlisted in the king's army. Wanted to protect us, he said. Barely of age and already such a strong sense of duty. I'm so proud of him. We were very lucky to have him return to us from the battle at Ostagar.

During our time on the stormy seas, he was almost back to being my little brother. The way he was before he began hating my guts. He stayed close by me, quiet and pensive. Mother blamed him as much for Beth's death as she did me, so we both kept away from her. Quite the feat on such a small ship, I'll have you know. Even though Carver rarely speaks of it, the loss of his twin sister probably hit him hardest; those two were so close. For years after, I would hear him cry for her in his sleep. I would always come over to hold him until he calmed down, but I'd be damned if I stayed until the boy woke up. He dislikes me enough as it is.

While Carver sat by my right side, Cassius lay to my left with his massive head on my leg, sadly whimpering. Come to think of it, I've never mentioned my mabari, have I? My bad. Cassius is just such an integrated part of my life, I hardly notice him anymore. Wherever I go, Cassius follows. He was there whenever I spied on the Templars, he got little scraps of food from the merchants whenever I went shopping for groceries and such, he kept watch whenever Bryant and I snuck in a quick make out session in some secret corner. Never judged my inclinations; a friend of mine is a friend of his, I guess. Everybody loves Cassius. He is the greatest gift my father ever gave me. Let me set the scene for you:

_Today is my sixteenth birthday. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, having just blown out the candles on my cake. Surrounded by my loving family and various gifts, I don't think the day can get any better. Boy, am I wrong. "The best is yet to come," father says solemnly, both hands behind his back. "Are you ready?" _

_"Sure!" I'm burning with curiosity. What could this be? Mother has already sewn me a new shirt in my favourite colour and baked the cake; Bethany and Carver have pooled their pocket money together to buy me a new dragon figurine. Father gently lays a burlap sack before me. Something is moving inside. I reach in and find something small, furry and warm. It's a very young mabari. The pup stares at me for a moment, then utters a happy little bark. It jumps up to lick my face. "Aww…" The dog and I take a liking to each other right away. That imprinting business, or whatever it's called. My heart feels fit to burst, so happy am I. "Thank you, father." I nearly hug the man into a pulp. _

_I am not the only one the mabari takes a liking to with such ease. "Puppy!" Bethany holds her hand out to our new friend to sniff, upon which he demands her to pet him. She and Carver happily give the dog all the attention he could ever want. Technically he is imprinted to me, but he is everybody's buddy. _

_"What should we name him?" I've racked my brain, but I can't really think of anything suitable enough for something as awesome as a mabari. _

_"What about Cassius?" suggests dad. When I ask him why, he shrugs and replies with a grin: "He is the greatest." I have no idea what that means, but the name sounds pretty cool. Cassius it is. _

Cassius has killed his share of darkspawn during our flight from Lothering. Good boy. If I had known their blood was poisonous, I wouldn't have let him. He could have ended up like Wesley. Poor dog. He got so sick while we were aboard, vomiting and whining in pain. Another Fereldan refugee thankfully had an herb that made him feel better. She was a very nice girl; rather reminded me of Bethany. Not that she looked anything like her, it was just that she was all smiles and kindness. Just like my sister. What was her name again? I forget. That's terrible of me. Without her, we would have probably lost Cassius to the darkspawn too. It can't be helped, I'm afraid. My memory is like a bucket without a bottom. I was thinking about starting a journal or something, but I don't have the time.

In any case, we weren't the only ones who had lost a loved one. Aveline. Getting her to talk about her feelings is like trying to wring blood from a stone. She didn't have to say anything for me to know that she had truly loved her man. I understand she gave up a lot to be with him. Ending his life was an act of mercy, but did _she_ see it like that? Maybe not. I will never know. Like I said, Aveline doesn't exactly wear her heart on her sleeve. The harder you try, the more clam-like she becomes. I suppose she is the kind of person who deals with everything on her own, or only discusses such matters with people she trusts to the fullest – a group of which I am apparently not a member then. If that works for her, fine. Must be great to be that independent. I know I need to talk shit out.

Speaking of shit… All the way to Kirkwall, mother had been tittering about her dear brother and the wonders of the Amell estate. So we arrived at our destination full of hope. Even when we saw the Gallows, with the creepy statues and whatnot and all the refugees clamouring before the gates, our spirits weren't dampened. We had a ticket in. I thought we would be welcomed into a lovely mansion, get a nice cup of tea, a few blankets to help us warm up. A roaring fire. Instead all we were served was a tall, cool glass of nope. First, the captain of the guard wouldn't even let us speak to our uncle. Then a company of impatient men decided it would be a great time to pick a fight while we were there, so we helped out the guards. Hey, presto! We expected a lord to greet us, but what we got was my miserable uncle Gamlen. Nothing wrong with being a commoner – everything wrong with being a gambling addict and a lush. Bah, I could smell the liquor on his breath even from where I was standing. And I was none too eager to get very close.

Despite the madness that was going on around the city, it warmed my heart to see that the guards would still be bribed to let people in. I know, it's hardly fair, but that is how it is. At least _something_ was normal. We didn't have any cash, nor did Gamlen. Some of his contacts did. It didn't surprise me to find out that Mr. Smarty-pants had been stealing from both parties. Or trying to, at least. This was the deal: they would pay our way into the city if Carver and I would do a year's worth of work for them. Aveline, not really having a place to go, decided to join us and help out. Don't know what we would've done without her. Gamlen also got to keep his kneecaps and various other bones intact, but that wasn't very high on my list of priorities. Especially after it turned out the bastard had been telling everyone that I'm a mage. For fuck's sake, it's a miracle the Circle didn't come knocking right away.

We had two options: do mercenary work for some guy called Meeran or smuggle for this elven lady, Athenril. The elves back home certainly weren't this slight, Maker's breath. It's a miracle the girl could even stay upright. That is neither here nor there, though. We spoke with them both and look, I even made a nifty little list for comparison.

**Pros**

Mercenaries

Not illegal

Good pay

Possibly exciting

Get to use magic freely

Smuggling

Exciting

Good pay

Get to use magic freely

**Cons**

Mercenaries

Dangerous

Smuggling

Illegal

Dangerous

If you look at it this way, the choice is pretty clear, isn't it? The third, hidden option was of course to stay outside the city gates and starve. I'll take danger any day. Talked it over with Carver and Aveline; they agreed with me. And so we embarked on a year of hard mercenary work. A job guarding valuables here, a job beating the tar out of someone there… Never anybody who didn't have it coming. Meeran made sure of that.

You might think that I, being a mage, wouldn't be all that suitable for physical labour. Nonsense! I wouldn't want to train my mind only, leaving my body to wither and soften. There has to be more of a balance, I think. Also, I'm really vain. It has taken me years of copying physical Templar training and daily morning jogs to become the sexy hunk of man you see before you. Check out these abs. Nice, right? Whoa, whoa… Get your hand out of there. Behave.

Let me just tell you a few things about my time as a sellsword. Staff. Whatever.


	3. Muscle for Hire

**Muscle for Hire**

Do you recall the 'possibly exciting' pro on the list, under the Mercenaries column? I clearly had the wrong idea of mercenary life. It should have been 'boooooring' and moved to cons. Most of the work we did was ever so dreary. The paltry test to get us into the Red Iron isn't even worth mentioning. Except, and this is pretty funny, that was the first time we were called dog lords. They're just jealous, because they don't have such awesome friends. Stupid Kirkwallers. Cassius laughed too, or whatever passes for laughing in his case. Suffice it to say that we did the job well and so were welcomed into their service. It also meant our ticket into the city. About bloody time! Even then it took two days for the bribes to come through. Aveline and mother they would let in right away, but not Carver and me. Must have been those cute freckles and the ample bosom, respectively. Maybe we were just too intimidating-looking. Maybe they were just fucking with us. Cunts.

Two days we huddled near the gates together with all the other refugees, trying to keep warm under my cloak. I was miserable because I missed Bryant and Carver was miserable because he had to stick so close to me. I'm not that awful, am I? It seems that my simply existing is enough to annoy him. Bah, I don't know what goes on in that boy's head. I know this much: being grown men and cuddling out in the streets – even if it's just to stay warm – is incredibly awkward. Nobody else seemed to do it, but we've always been very practical. A few teenage girls kept staring at us and giggling. They might have been hoping we would take things a bit further to keep warm. I can't really blame them, but no. No matter how effective it would be, this is my little brother we're talking about. Although, little… Somewhere along the line Carver has grown slightly taller than me and put on more muscle. Some might even think him better-looking than me. I don't know about that though.

In any case, I'm sure I speak not only for myself when I say that I was very happy to be away from the gates. Gamlen's house in Lowtown wasn't exactly the lap of luxury, but it had four walls and a roof. A bed with only a few fleas in the covers. Even a hearth to heat the place up. I just love warmth. The hotter, the better. Nothing nicer than sitting wrapped in a blanket near a roaring fire, sipping freshly brewed tea. Never been very keen on ale and such. The taste is not for me.

I was going to tell you about our work for the Red Iron though, right? There isn't actually that much to tell. The work was tiring, but tedious. It generally involved lots of walking, carrying and punching. The odd Winter's Grasp or Cone of Cold from me, perhaps a well-placed thwack from my staff. Every day I would stumble back to the house and fall into bed right away, asleep before I even hit the mattress. Well, after I'd climbed up to the second bunk. It was a tight fit in that room. I enjoy a tight fit, but not like that. Surrounded by people in this three-tier bed, I couldn't lay a hand on myself for fear of anybody noticing. Aveline and mother even had to share a bunk between them, although our lady-knight insisted she sleep on the floor. Mother wouldn't hear of it, thank goodness, so bunk-buddies it was. Trying times, those were.

Amidst all that mindless labour there is one job, however, that still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. Even now, after all these years. It began with the name of the man who hired us: Mike Hunt. Pfft, hahaha… Has anybody seen Mike Hunt? Surely somebody has seen Mike Hunt. Go check if Mike Hunt is outside. Whoa, get a load of Mike Hunt! Mike Hunt had been on this expedition deep into the-… Bwahahaha… Excuse me a moment, will you?

Oh, that's better. As I was saying, Hunt had been on an expedition deep into the jungles of the Qunari lands. I'm glad they didn't hire to us to help with that. The wild jungle beasts had taken out five of their party of twenty, before they could reach their destination: a long abandoned temple riddled with booby-traps – seven more people lost their lives – and for good reason, because in the heart of the building they'd found amazing treasure. Sure, there were apparently loads of carvings and such that could have shed some serious light on Qunari history, but monetary value always wins. Loads and loads of raw gemstones in every possible colour just lay there for the taking. So they had come away with several strongboxes full of the stuff; the Qunari simply let them cart it off. Maybe they were all about the finders keepers attitude, or maybe they knew more than those finders.

Hunt got to keep one box for himself, but he became paranoid that perhaps somebody might kill him for it. That's where the Red Iron came in. This was about halfway down our year of servitude and since we always performed well without too much whining about it, Meeran let us handle the dangerous, high-paying jobs. And dangerous some of them were; I could show you a bunch of scars I earned along with the money. But I won't, because I know you will try to stick your hand down my trousers again.

Aveline, Carver and I waited for Hunt on the Wounded Coast in the middle of the night – I bet we looked like a right bunch of idiots for standing out there in the chill – until he rowed up to us in a ratty dingy. One side of the thing went considerably deeper thanks to the gems. It was all very cloak-and-daggery. The man was dressed in black from head to toe and would only speak in barely audible whispers. It was hilarious, especially considering what those gems were. Foreshadowing, no? Varric tells me a good storyteller throws a bit of that in sometimes. I wonder where that dwarf is. Hm, oh well. Our quest went as follows.

_Hunt: "Listen to them, children of the night." He eyes me expectantly. _

_Me: "What music they make." How do people come up with these ridiculous passwords? _

_Hunt: "You must be Mike Hawke." Sniggering under his breath. Very mature. _

_Me: "Yes, and you must be Mike Hunt." I don't even smile, that's how professional I am – no matter how hard I'm laughing on the inside, I can keep a straight face. I introduce the others. _

_Hunt: "You there, young man, carry this chest for me and make sure it stays safe." He has a name, you know. I just told you. What a tool. Sullen as always, my brother does as he is told. The weight makes his biceps swell as he picks it up. Impressive sight. Am I envious? Maybe. It could also be something entirely different, but let's not talk about that. I keep my staff at the ready for any potential attackers, but it would seem the place is deserted. No wonder. One would not venture out into this cold unless there was cash involved. _

_Carver: "Where is that sweet smell coming from?" He sniffs around. _

_Hunt: "You know, I've been wondering that too." _

_Aveline: "Here, Carver, I'll help you." They both grab a handle and carry the chest between them. Carver manages a grateful smile, just for her. _

_Hunt: "Why on earth did they send a woman?" Only I am close enough to hear it. Great, he's a sexist and a tool. Aveline could totally kick this fellow's sorry ass if she had a mind to. He's lucky she doesn't. _

_Me: "So, Hunt, what is it we're guarding?" Meeran is never very generous with details, provided he even knows them himself, and I am very curious. I'm no cat, after all. Sometimes the clients are far from talkative, with which I will just have to live. Hunt, however, isn't one of those. _

_Hunt: "These are the legendary jewels of Opar." His voice is filled with awe. "Some of them, at least. We've gone through such trouble to get them. You see, blah, blah, blah, filthy stinking jungles, blah, blah, blah, torn to pieces, blah, blah, blah, running away from a giant boulder, blah, blah, blah, cloven in two with a giant axe, blah, blah, blah, fell into a bottomless pit, blah, blah, blah, historically interesting carvings, blah, blah, blah, impaled by countless spikes, blah, blah, blah, priceless golden artefacts, blah, blah, blah, drowned in an ancient cesspool, blah, blah, blah, jewels as far as the eye could see. Naturally we took the jewels; the gold was far too heavy to take a lot of." _

_Me: "That is fascinating." Not. What had been happening behind us is far more interesting, as it turns out. _

_Aveline: "Hawke, we need to speak with you for a moment." She looks very amused for some reason. _

_Hunt: "But of course. Girl troubles, no doubt." He nudges my ribs with his elbow and winks. Now I want to strangle him, but I just smile in response and follow Aveline. Customer satisfaction is key. We don't get paid until afterwards. _

_Me: "What is it?" Now I see that even Carver is having trouble keeping a straight face. _

_Aveline: "Look." She cracks the lid open a bit and shines her lamp on its contents. The jewels are large and beautifully coloured, but they look strange. Sticky, almost. _

_Carver: "Here, brother. Lick this." He holds a purple gem up to my lips. _

_Me: "Are you trying to poison me again?" _

_Carver: "I told you that was an accident, honest. Go on." I touch my tongue to the stone; it tastes sweet. And grape-like. _

_Me: "What manner of gem is this?" I have a sneaking suspicion they're not as they seem to be. _

_Aveline: "It's rock candy." She and Carver look at one another and burst out laughing. Before long, I join them. Hunt and his people have gone through all that, for candy? It's tragic in a funny kind of way that so many died for this. Doesn't stop me from laughing though. _

_Carver: "Shouldn't we tell him?" He shoots an amused look in Hunt's direction. _

_Me: "Absolutely not. He is a prick; he doesn't deserve the courtesy." _

_Aveline: "Why did they send a woman, indeed. Son of a bitch." She scowls fiercely. _

_Me: "Well, you heard the lady." _

_Carver: "I just wish we could be there to see the look on his face when he finds out." He is grinning from ear to ear. I'm beginning to wish for more jobs like this one as I get back to Hunt, who is waiting patiently for us. You'd think he would take offence to us rifling through his precious treasure, but the distant look on his face tells me the man is lost in dreamland. _

_Hunt: "So, what did she have on her mind?" _

_Me: "Oh, just something about being cold. I told her she should have put on a coat." Let's just play along with this fool. "Tell me, do you know anything about the original owners of these gems?" _

_Hunt: "It's just obscure history and legend, but I suppose I could tell you a thing or two. The ancient Oparians were great confectioners." _

_Me: "Confectioners? As in, they made candy?" And suddenly it all makes sense. _

_Hunt: "Indeed. They were known far and wide for their spun sugar; people of various nations came flocking to buy edible art. That's how they amassed all those riches we found. They were really fond of the stuff themselves, though, so in the end they all died of diabetes." He rubs his hands together and cackles like a maniac. No doubt he is thinking of what to do with his riches. Hunt is none too bright, I think. He should really have put two and two together by now. A nation of confectioners and their greatest treasure. A sweet smell. Sticky gemstones. Hello? No, nothing? _

_We continue on in silence, which is only broken by the occasional giggle from Aveline or Carver. I'm keeping my giggles inside. Our destination is Hunt's home out in the middle of nowhere, which makes our uncle's look like a palace in comparison. The candy won't pay his way out of it, I'm sure. I almost feel sad for him. Almost. Although we're in no way obligated to do so, we carry the goods inside. Hunt is perfectly happy to push a fat coin pouch into my hands, then shoos us out so he can inspect his treasures in peace. Well, look on the bright side: he has more than enough resources to take up the art of confectionery now. _

And that was that. We made our way back home without a single hitch, laughing about silly old Hunt all the while. Some time ago I ran into him by pure coincidence; the man was filthy stinking rich, hung with enough gold chains to bring a pack mule down to its knees. That rock candy? It was worth a fortune. Turns out there is this entire culture of candy collectors – a cult, almost. Hunt had split the rocks up into lots and sold them at auction. No more living in squalor or going on dangerous expeditions. Goes to show what we know, eh?

A month or so after our adventure with Hunt I stumbled into the living room in the morning to find Aveline all dressed, sword and shield at her back, pack in her hands. "Do we have a job today?" I asked, a yawn between every word.

"No." There was something like sadness on her face. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I should have told you sooner." I was still half asleep, so nothing really registered.

"Told me what?" I went over to the teapot, hoping to find some left over. Another glass of nope.

"I'm leaving," she replied. "I joined the city guard and I'm starting today." This did register. My heart sunk immediately. I felt like we had to stay together, being unwelcome dog lord refugees and having been through such a great deal. She was the only one I could talk to about my problems and who would offer me advice that was actually helpful. "Don't look so sad, Hawke." Aveline put on a brave face, as she always did. "We'll see each other once in a while, I'm sure."

I hugged her tightly. "Well, at least mother will be pleased to have that bunk all to herself. Don't be a stranger, all right?"

"I won't." Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny when we let go of each other. "Tell Carver goodbye for me."

"You can tell me yourself," he said out of the blue. No idea how long he'd been standing there. They only exchanged a firm handshake. "Good luck. Where will you stay?" Carver didn't really seem affected by her departure.

Aveline shot a disdainful look at the bedroom. "In the guards' barracks. It'll be a damned sight better than this flea paradise. Thank your mother and Gamlen for their kindness for me, will you?" She waved, slinging her pack over her shoulder. "Until next time, gentlemen." On that note, she left us. I later found some moisture on my collar from when she'd pressed her face against my shoulder. Hardened soldier or no, she still had some measure of emotion in her.

Heh, I get a little teary-eyed myself thinking about this, to be honest. Things were never really the same after that, even though guard duty didn't keep Aveline very busy. She always said it was almost as boring as working for the Red Iron. Whenever we weren't working and she had a free moment, Aveline would come visit. I would complain about how I missed Bryant; she would pat my arm and tell me at first that we would see each other again. Later this turned into how I should get over it, because it had all been too long ago and nobody would expect me to save myself. Never a word about Wesley. Ever. I'm sure she missed him. It was his shield she was carrying everywhere.

I will never get over Bryant. I've tried. Whenever my mind wanders, it wanders back to him. This might seem unkind to my current lover, but he knows it can't be helped. Maker bless him for being so understanding. Who is he, you ask? Well, I won't reveal that just yet.

I know I've promised you some more smut. Sadly, during that first year I lived in celibacy. Not even my left hand was on intimate terms with me anymore. I couldn't find anybody I fancied enough to take to bed and had I found someone, I could hardly have taken him home to Gamlen's. Ugh, perish the thought. I couldn't use the facilities of the Blooming Rose either, being piss poor and Fereldan. At some point I did finally get to sample their delights, though. Shall I tell you about that?

* * *

_Bonus points if you can name the source for the jewels of Opar, Hunt's narrative of his run through the jungle - even more bonus points if you can name the artist for Run Through the Jungle - and the password. Reviews and such are welcome, but I won't hold my breath. Difficult to write when you're dead.  
_


	4. Tender Loving Care

_Finally, some smut. Geez, it was about time. Gay sex ahead.  
_

* * *

**Tender Loving Care**

There is something I'd like to mention first. Yeah, I know. Keep your knickers out of that twist. We'll get there soon enough. This is a proper story, remember? We need motivation, characters, settings, the works. Now then… I've never been very religious – I suppose I believe in the Maker well enough, but this belief doesn't pervade my everyday life like it does for some. One fine day, the weather was good and there was no work to be done, I was wandering the city all by myself. Carver had taken mother and Cassius out for a long walk around the beach. So there I was, soaking up the sun and taking in the sights of Hightown. And not giving even a hint of a fuck about the disdainful looks and sneers of the natives. "I thought the refugees kept to Lowtown, rabble, rabble." "Avert your eyes, Fereldan dog, rabble, rabble." Jump off a steep cliff, you hoity-toity bastards.

I somehow found myself in front of the Chantry. Memories of my Templar came flooding back; not that I was doing such a great job at trying to repress them. Every day I went down to the gates, hoping to see him somewhere among the refugees. It was an exercise in futility and disappointment. In any case, I thought I might as well take a look inside the Chantry. It was a grand place, beautifully furnished with soft, thick carpets and velvet drapes. Carvings and statues of excellent quality. The most beautiful thing, however, was the voice that rang through its halls. The words flowed down my ears, soft and sweet. I couldn't focus on the meaning of them at all, but the sound was stunning.

As quietly as possible I found myself a place in the back. There weren't many others. I closed my eyes and listened to that beautiful voice, allowing the words to wrap around me. They felt like a thousand little fingers caressing me all over. Awe quickly turned into arousal. I could just hear that gorgeous voice moaning into my ear, whispering filthy little nothings. Which was bad. I rushed out before anyone could see the tent I'd pitched in my trousers. The whole way home I was frustrated and half-dazed. I just wanted to be loved again. Just to be held, or something. The last thing I wanted was to catch shit from anybody.

But you know how that goes, don't you? Of course my dear uncle was right there when I walked in, alcoholic vapours coming off the man in waves. "What crawled up your backside and died?" he wanted to know. His words were hopelessly slurred. Apparently he thought this was a hilarious comment. I just glared at him. "If looks could kill!" Again he giggled to himself. Again I sent him the iciest glare I could conjure. Out of the blue: "Are you all right?"

"What?" The question had me taken aback. I would never expect a self-serving twat like Gamlen to ask me anything of the sort.

"Look…" He shook his head and passed a hand over his eyes. The drunkenness was gone, poof, vanished in an instant. "It's hard on all of us, living packed together like rats, but maybe it's worse for you." Gamlen looked me up and down. "Your mother worries about you, you know."

Mother. I scoffed. "I doubt that." She and I didn't get along very well anymore. I think you all know the reason. "I'm fine, anyway."

"You certainly don't look fine." The old man's brow creased in what looked like worry. To this day I'm still not sure if he genuinely cared, or that he was just protecting his best interests. Without us, who else was going to help keep his kneecaps intact? "Leandra told me you had to leave somebody behind in Ferelden." He sighed. "Believe it or not, I know more of such things than you'd think."

I was surprised. At the time I knew nothing of the wife that had walked out on him; it's a sad thing, even though he no doubt deserved it. Poor woman. I can't imagine what it must be like, having to share your life with such an individual. Still, I was determined to be an obstinate child. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"Absolutely nothing." He threw me a coin pouch, which I caught in a reflex. "There's two gold pieces worth of coppers in there; get yourself to the Blooming Rose for the premium service. You look like you need it more than I do."

For a few moments I could only gawp at the man; I thought my ears might've malfunctioned. "What, the whorehouse? You're giving me money so I can get my rocks off with a professional?"

"What else would you do? Seduce someone and bring them here?" Gamlen laughed and shook his head. "It'll be all right, Michael. The pain will fade away eventually." He wagged his finger at me. "Do not, for the Maker's sake, tell your mother about this." Yeah, sex is the first thing I would never discuss with her.

I'm still not so sure about the pain fading away, but I thanked him and went on my merry way with the money. Of course I could've given it back; it was obvious, however – even to my dear, drunk uncle – that I really needed to get laid. Better to get it over with. The first thing I noticed, standing in front of the Blooming Rose, was their emblem. If that wasn't a barely veiled vagina... What? I did tell you I'd kissed a few girls; I never told you where. This little redhead had clamped her thighs so tightly around my head, she nearly crushed my skull. Heh. She was screaming at the top of her lungs too. Nice. The taste and the smell: not so hot. I like the texture of boobs, though, while we're on the subject. Mmm, squishy.

So anyway, the Blooming Rose. The madam was an utter bitch and ugly to boot. She even bit a few of the coins, thinking I'd forged them. Well, I never… Finally she was satisfied and I got to choose. What a paltry choice that was. Two gold and all I can choose from are two elven women and one human man? Feh. What if I'd felt like, say, shagging a dwarf? Or a male elf for that matter? Glad that wasn't my own money. Hearing one of those women speak, I suspected she might have actually been a he, but my loins were still not calling out to her. Him. Whatever. The only male, whose hair was so pale it was almost white, was sitting there without a shirt on. I have to admit that seeing such nicely sculpted, smooth, naked flesh was making me salivate just a little.

His gaze had been on me since I'd walked through the door. Who else was I going to go for? The women weren't even remotely attractive. Those elves are so thin and fragile, I'm always afraid I could break them just by looking at the poor things. The guy smirked at me when I turned in his direction. He was practically undressing me with his eyes. Invasive, but flattering. Dragging my feet, I went up to him; I shouldn't be paying some professional to come to bed with me. Still, this was my best chance at relieving my tensions. "Hello," I managed to say without stuttering.

Deep blue eyes looked me up and down, coming to a halt dead centre. "Well, well, looks like we have a hardened adventurer here…"

Even though I couldn't help wincing at the cheesiness, I still replied: "You're not wrong there." It was true; I had been walking around with a raging boner since I'd left the Chantry. It would let up after a while, but then I would think of that beautiful voice, or my adventures with Bryant, or both.

"Shall we?" The man rose from his seat; he had to look up to meet my eyes. While I followed him into a private room, he said: "I apologize for the awful joke, but I thought I should break the ice." Quite a nice smile he had. "You look nervous."

"Yeah…" I shrugged. "I bet you hear this a lot, but I don't normally do this."

He opened a door and ushered me in. "Oh, I believe you." Once again his eyes swept over me. "You are very handsome." Gently he helped me out of my coat and draped it over a chair, then passed his hands over my sides. I shivered, finally being touched again. My skin raised itself in goose bumps.

"You don't have to flatter me." Already I was getting weak in the knees, even though – if I'm brutally honest – this guy wasn't extremely attractive and I still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea.

"I'm not flattering you." Very slowly he undid the laces on my shirt, then slipped his delicate hands inside. Those gentle caresses were nearly driving me bonkers. "So, what's your name, gorgeous?" His lips had moved so close to my ear, they touched me with every word.

I had to bite back a groan. "Hawke." Soft lips, soft fingers seemed to everywhere, while my shirt had apparently disappeared. "And you are...?"

"Don't worry about that." His voice was a hypnotic drone in my ear as he nudged me towards the luxurious bed. "Just enjoy yourself." Before long, I was lying on my back, naked as the day I was born. Those eyes... Looking into them was like sinking into a perfectly calm ocean. "You must be so tired; I can see it in your face." I don't know what he was doing to me exactly, but it was awesome. "Let me take care of you." His mouth busied itself with my neck, finding all the right places to kiss, lick and nibble. I was moaning like an untouched virgin. His hands were all over my skin, except where it really mattered. I'd become as hard as a rock, harder even, and he just left that well alone. Finally, a touch as light as air and I nearly exploded. "You're a big boy, Hawke." Meanwhile he had descended to my stomach, where he looked up at me and winked. "And that is no flattery either."

I closed my eyes and lay back against the fluffy pillows, while the professional went to work on me. First, his soft lips placed a row of kisses up the length of me, before gobbling me up bit by bit. The inside of his mouth felt like wet velvet. His tongue was so flexible, I could feel it wrapping around me and stroking me up and down. I tangled my fingers into his hair and pushed him down to make him go just a bit deeper. He didn't only go deeper; the man let my cock slide all the way down into his throat. He wasn't just a professional, he was a fucking artist. Never gagged. Not even once. "I can see why your services would cost so much…" My voice was all hoarse from the moaning and groaning.

My partner chuckled, the vibrations only adding to my pleasure. Slowly he had my rod slip out of his throat; his skilled hand kept stroking me. Perfect pace, perfect pressure. It was as if he'd known me for years. "Oh, I haven't even begun yet," he said, licking his lips. Maybe he wasn't the best-looking guy I've ever seen, but he certainly knew seduction.

"True." I reached out to run my thumb along his lower lip. He promptly began sucking on it. Hot. "I'm still going to fuck you." Needless to say, I was quite comfortable at this point. And itching to get even more up close and personal.

"Mmm, I can't wait." Moaning softly, he let his tongue swirl around the head. "Let me just play with this a bit more." Once again he swallowed me. I propped myself up on my elbows to enjoy the sight of that platinum blond head working its magic on my throbbing cock. It's a good thing I'm a mage who knows a measure of self-control, or I would've popped ages ago. I was bitching about the lack of choice earlier, but Maker's breath… After a while of mind-blowing delights, the professional released me. My rod was glistening from top to bottom with that thick, viscous spit that serves as an excellent lubricant. When I made to get up, he kept me down and straddled my waist. "I said I'd take care of you," he purred, his hands caressing my chest. "Just relax, Hawke, and let me do the work."

Who was I to say no, right? I watched the man tackle his challenge. As I keep reminding you, my weapon is by no means a small one. He chewed his lip as he slowly skewered himself to my hard-on; it took a few really hard pushes to get past the muscle at the entrance. There was a rather pained expression on his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, it's just that my clients usually aren't this large," he whimpered. Sad though it sounded, my ego still swelled with pride. So did something else. "Andraste's _ass_! Are you doing that on purpose?"

"I would never hurt you on purpose." Unless he was some crime lord I was sent to take out, or some such. My eye was drawn to his cock, which despite any possible pain was standing tall and firm. I reached out to give it a tug, eliciting a low moan. "This'll make it easier." I continued jerking him off; the organ felt like steel wrapped in silk against my hand.

"You don't have to do that." But, judging from the way he threw back his head and moaned happily, he must have appreciated the gesture. Before long, I was all the way inside. Very tight, it felt in there. Snug and silky. Mmm. The tunnel twitched with every stroke I gave. After my long period of loneliness, it felt like a very pleasant kind of torture. If that makes any sense at all. He gently pried away my fingers. "Stop that, or I'm going to come all over you."

"I don't mind." Anything for a distraction, really. He still wouldn't let me at him. "Oh, come on…"

Resolutely he placed my hands on his slim hips and kept them there. "No." He slumped over me to whisper in my ear: "You deserve to be looked after, Hawke." Yes. Yes, I did deserve to be looked after. How this guy knew that was beyond me, but he was right. "You'll love it, I promise." He smiled down on me and wiggled his bum; I groaned at the slight stimulation. "All right?"

I only nodded and let my eyes sweep over that body on top of me. And what a beautiful body it was, too. I took in every line of his slender frame, the muscles lightly defined. So different from what I loved then, still love now. Pale, flawless skin instead of the chocolatey complexion riddled with scars that I was so familiar with. I adored running my tongue down those pink lines, you know. This one looked like an alabaster statue. He was lean and toned, not spectacularly muscled. Nothing wrong with that – lovely, even – but it wasn't what I wanted. I closed my eyes and pretended it was my beloved Templar bouncing on my cock. His soft skin under my hands. His warm flesh clutching me tightly. His pleasured gasps in my ears. His hot breath against my face.

I gritted my teeth with the effort, trying not to blow my load too soon. No amount of willpower could keep me from coming inside that tight little ass for very long; before I could warn him, however, the professional began moaning about how he was going to come himself. I had to look. His face was bright pink all the way down to his neck, the cords there standing out thickly. Without a single touch, his cock began fountaining cream like you wouldn't believe. I was fascinated. The man was softly whimpering all the while, his muscles contracting around me. His cute little whimpers turned into screams as I firmly gripped him around the waist and thrust into him with all my might.

Once again I closed my eyes and imagined it was Bryant I was filling to the brim. That was probably one of the more intense orgasms I've ever had. When I finally came to, I found my partner stroking my hair and looking at me with pity in his gaze. "What is it?" Then I felt the tears on my face. "Oh… Sorry about that." Boy, was that embarrassing. I make it a point not to cry, period, never mind in front of almost complete strangers. "I uh, yeah."

He embraced me and pressed his cheek to mine. "I'm sorry, Hawke. Whoever this Bryant is, you must love him very much." I asked him how he knew that and found out I'd been crying out for him over and over again. And that he had seen the tattoo of his name. Had I had a good time? Better than I could have ever imagined. It turned out that I had got way more than I'd paid for; poor bleeding heart didn't want to shoo me out when my time was up. I wish I could have given him more than his pay to show my appreciation. I mean, he even helped me get cleaned up before I left. Most sensual makeshift bath I've ever had. I walked back home in a pink haze, smiling from ear to ear. Flipped off a few of those Hightown cunts. Delightful.

Gamlen greeted me with a knowing grin. "Was that a premium service or what?" He smacked me on the shoulder. "Look at you, smiling and everything." I clearly wasn't in my right mind, because I hugged him – he was understandably stumped – and then stumbled into bed. Great dreams were had that night.

I knew you'd ask. No, I'm not going to show you my tattoo. It's in a very intimate place, for one. The tattooist was so embarrassed. Ha. You see, it's where my leg attaches to my trunk. Only visible in intimate situations. It was meant to be only for him; I was positive we would be together for at least forever. Bryant wasn't sure what to think of it at first. He giggled and turned redder than a beetroot. When he was used to it, however, he couldn't get enough of touching it. With his lips, mostly. Sometimes with his tongue, or with his fingers…

I will leave you with this mental image for now. Come back tomorrow and I will tell you of the epic party we threw in honour of the ending of the Blight.


End file.
